


Falling Asleep

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fallen Angel, M/M, Nightmares, Other, That popular archangel fanon people like but I'm not committed to, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-15 13:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19617349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Most nights, Crowley Falls. Tonight, Aziraphale is there to catch him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people are pretty set on the fanon that Crowley was an archangel but I go back and forth on it. However, it wrote itself into this one, so. Enjoy?

Crowley, for all his bravado, does not  _ saunter vaguely downward _ in much the same way that one does not saunter vaguely off a cliff, or a roof; as casually as the journey may begin, when a certain line is crossed there always has to be a Fall.

He stumbles, in the face of God's wrath, and then he plummets, wings aflame, the price of his curiosity. He feels his feathers singed and burned away, feels new ones force themselves through to replace them, each one full of the darkness that awaits him. For the rest of his existence, he will know nothing else; no light, no peace, no joy. Even the ground's reassuring firmness does not rise to greet him; nothing will break his fall until he is in Hell, with all the rest.

Crowley falls, and wakes with the sensation of falling still churning in his stomach, clutching at the mattress to save himself. It is dark, for a moment, and then the grip around him tightens and there is light.

"I've got you, my dear, don't worry. I've got you."

Aziraphale can't be completely awake himself, but he is always there to catch Crowley out of his nightmares, stroking the demon's wings as they unfold in his futile attempt to catch himself.

"There, there. It's a nightmare, Crowley, you're safe." And he is. Aziraphale is love, and light, and life; Aziraphale is hope, and home, and comfort. Crowley isn't used to having any of those things; he clutches at his angel's back and sobs helplessly into his chest.

"I never meant to, Aziraphale, I never wanted to. I only asked a question-"

"I know, my dear. It's over now."

"It's never over." As much as he knows he is safe, now, he also knows that the fear might never fade; fear of somehow falling again, of falling impossibly lower; fear of dragging his angel down with him as they cling to one another.

Aziraphale is quiet, for a moment, fingers buried in Crowley's feathers, rubbing tiny, soothing circles into the skin beneath until Crowley can feel himself arching helplessly into the touch.

"I used to have this nightmare, too." Crowley has all but forgotten what they were talking about, lost in the sensation of the angel's tender ministrations, but he forces his eyes to focus on Aziraphale's face. It is solemn, and desperately sad, and Crowley wants nothing more than to see him smile again. "I watched it happen, you know. We all had to- I watched you fall."

For a moment, that doesn't make sense, and then it does - of course God would have made them watch, to scare anyone else who might have thought to ask questions.

"Gabriel made sure I didn't look away." Aziraphale, it seems, is taking his silence as disapproval, scrambling to justify himself, and Crowley should correct him but he can't find the words. "I didn't know which one was… well, I didn't know you then. Gabriel wanted me to see what happened if you paid more attention to another angel than you did to God."

Crowley can't hold back a derisive snort at that. "He's changed his tune since."

"Oh, well, one rule for them, one rule for us… He thought I spent too much time staring at one of the archangels. The one Sandalphon replaced, he Fell. It was foolish, really. Angels don't really  _ get… _ infatuated."

"A fallen archangel." Crowley repeats stupidly.  _ Infatuated,  _ he thinks, and is almost jealous before he reminds himself that that's stupid.

"Yes. I believe there’s only one, besides the Morningstar. Maybe you’ve seen him around?”

“I don’t think Hell, in general, knows there  _ was _ an archangel that fell. Sandalphon, you say?”

“No. Sandalphon replaced him. Don’t demons keep track of the archangels?”

“Can you name the Lords of Hell?”

“Er… there’s Beelzebub…” Aziraphale grasps for names for a little longer before conceding defeat. “Well, all right. I just would have thought he’d be a bit of a celebrity on your side, you know, with the height he fell from.”

“Never gets mentioned. You were saying something…?”

“Oh. No, nothing, really. I just think Gabriel wanted to stop me looking up to the other angels so much. Starstruck, I suppose.” Aziraphale shrugs. “But I didn’t mean to talk about  _ me _ , I just meant to say- well- I do  _ remember  _ the Fall, from a distance. I know it wasn’t as easy as you make it out to be. I was hoping that last angel would be allowed to stay just as much as anyone; I didn’t even know who it was, just that God was still deciding and I hoped She’d be merciful because Falling looked  _ horrible _ . So I understand why you’d have nightmares. And it’s all right, you know. If you want to talk to me about it.”

Crowley closes his eyes, allowing himself to remember those last Heavenly moments. He had only himself to blame for his Fall; he had got in with a bad crowd, sure enough, and he’d only wanted Lucifer to get a fair hearing… but God  _ had  _ hesitated before throwing him out. He’d stood awaiting judgement, after the last of his fellow rebels had passed beyond the range of even angelic vision, and he had known, somehow, that if he apologised, if he threw himself at God’s feet and begged for mercy, he could have had it. And instead, what had come out of his mouth was a question, the one thing God absolutely couldn’t stand. Crowley had fallen, still staring upwards as all he’d ever known sped away from him, impossibly and irrevocably out of reach. He had stared upwards until the flames consuming his wings blocked even the sky itself from view.

Very few of the angels who Fell were recognisable as the demons who landed; they all assumed new names and new identities, and Crowley was no exception. He was adept at shapeshifting, even as many of his fellow demons struggled to perform more than half-transformations. As a result, he was sent to Earth ahead of the others, and even Lucifer - now Satan - didn’t stop to wonder what had given him those advantages. Satan had spent a while casually enquiring about the whereabouts of the lone archangel who’d stood with them, and - like everyone else - Crowley had told anyone who asked that he didn’t know, he hadn’t seen him, were they sure that he’d fallen at all? At last, Satan had decided that God preferred the archangels over the others, that She must have made an exception for him, and Crowley never told anyone how close that had come to being true. He had been considered for a position among the Lords of Hell, but not by virtue of his former Heavenly standing, and then he had been allowed to fade into mediocrity. Commendations aside, Crowley was never a particularly significant demon, nor did he want to be. He had been only too glad of the opportunity to go to Earth and stay there.

Aziraphale is still looking at him, watching him with that expression a touch too close to pity, and Crowley realises he hasn’t responded.

“Thank you.” In a sudden surge of daring, he reaches out to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Would you mind sharing your wings with me?”

“Of course not. Does it help?”

“It does.” He doesn’t know why it is, but ever since he’s been sharing a bed with Aziraphale, the angel’s wings have brought him comfort above and beyond what Aziraphale himself offers anyway. He allows the soft feathers to settle around him and sighs contentedly. “Thanks, angel.”

“Sleep well, my dear.”

Crowley closes his eyes. Perhaps, one day, he will tell Aziraphale about his past, before the Fall. Tonight, he'll sleep in his angel’s arms and dream of the future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale remembers the Fall, and old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a separate fic but it all goes together and also I hate thinking up titles, so... enjoy this.

"So, angel." They are sitting in the bookshop together, wrapped up in one another, and Aziraphale is on the verge of falling asleep when Crowley begins to speak.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm not your first celestial crush?"

Damn. He'd hoped Crowley would forget the discussion they'd had the previous night. He doesn't know why he even brought it up; Crowley had been terrified, no doubt by the same nightmare that always plagued him, and Aziraphale had started babbling on about Raphael as if Crowley could possibly be interested. Now, he's certain, Crowley will start comparing himself to the archangel - an archangel who doesn't even exist any more - and inevitably find himself lacking.

"It wasn't a crush," Aziraphale finds himself saying, "I just… liked to see him. He was- he  _ seemed- _ so good, so pure. He  _ shone _ . I used to trail along in his wake, really - I mean, that was part of my job, I was assigned to his Host - but I always hoped he'd notice me one day. Say I was doing well. That's all," he adds, belatedly realising that it  _ does  _ sound a bit like a crush, when you put it like that.

"How could he not notice you?" Crowley sounds dazed, as if the idea of anyone failing to notice  _ his _ angel is impossible to understand. 

"Well, I was nothing special. Principalities didn't exist until the Fall - we were sort of assigned to make sure the archangels didn't- that the rest of them didn't- well, you know."

"That's a lot of responsibility," Crowley murmurs. "It would take more than having a personal assistant to stop  _ me  _ falling."

"Yes, well. I hoped… I hoped it would be enough to make sure  _ I  _ didn't fall. I was under consideration to be his replacement, actually. Before Eden."

" _ That's _ why you were in his place on the gate," Crowley announces, with the air of someone who's just solved a puzzle they've been working on for centuries.

"Yes. I was the favourite for the job, until… well, nobody ever said anything but I think it was losing the sword that put an end to that. Wait, who told you I wasn’t originally assigned to the gate?"

"I saw archangels on the other three gates. Not hard to work out."

"No. No, I suppose not." 

Aziraphale is quiet for a moment, thinking of Sandalphon's smug face when he'd first introduced himself as the  _ archangel  _ Sandalphon, the way he's lorded it over Aziraphale ever since, shoving him over to Gabriel's division without so much as a by-your-leave around the time of the Flood. He wasn't talking about that, before; what had Crowley asked him in the first place? Ah. Yes. His celestial crush.

"You're my first love, Crowley." The demon stiffens, clearly not expecting that, but Aziraphale presses on. "I didn't  _ know  _ him, we never even spoke, I don't think. I helped him build a star once, me and a few others, and he smiled at me, but that's all. That's not love, it's not even a crush, it's just… appreciation, I suppose. I  _ know  _ you. I  _ love _ you."

"More fool you," Crowley teases, but his heart's not in it. "I love you, too. I suppose." Aziraphale glares at him for that, then kisses him, and the awkward conversation is over.

That night, Aziraphale dreams. He dreams of the Fall, of Raphael's smile. He dreams of running towards God, begging Her not to cast out anyone else, to have mercy. Then Raphael is falling, horror on his face, flames licking at his wings, and when Aziraphale reaches out to catch him he wakes with his arms full of Crowley.

"Hush, angel, it's all right." Crowley brushes a tear from Aziraphale's cheek, and Aziraphale knows it must sting the demon more than it burns Aziraphale. "It's all right."

"He Fell. And if your lot don't have him-"

"I'm sure we do, I just don't get told these things." If Aziraphale was perfectly himself, he might notice that Crowley seems to be choosing his words carefully, but he's too choked with fear to pay attention.

"He was an archangel. What if he was too holy to survive the Fall? The lake of sulphur-"

"Oh, yeah, that. We, er, most of us landed  _ next  _ to that. In the shallows, at least."

"But what if-?"

"Aziraphale. The Morningstar himself survived the Fall. But this angel you fancied, he's not an angel any more. He'd be a demon now. You wouldn't even recognise him."

He's jealous again, Aziraphale realises, and he has every right to be. They've spent over six thousand years getting to the point where they can share a bed without fear, and now Aziraphale is weeping over somebody else.

"It's not like that," he assures his demon, "I don't care about him because I want him. I don't want anyone but you, I love  _ you _ . But it never occurred to me that he might be really gone."

"As far as I know,  _ everyone  _ who fell - they all landed." Crowley cups Aziraphale's cheek and the angel turns into the touch, adoration overwhelming him. "He's alive, just… not what you remember."

"I hope he didn't become that little round demon from your trial."

"Oh, no, that was something Lucifer made one day, to see if he could match God’s creation. He, er, couldn’t. But sleep, angel. It's late."

Aziraphale sleeps, and as he does, he feels soft wings wrap around him, surrounding him with their tenderness. If Crowley is here with him, if Crowley survived the Fall - dreams of Crowley Falling always wake him instantly, too painful to bear - well, if Crowley is safe then Aziraphale doesn't care what happens to anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets don't last forever, but maybe some things do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a pain to write, so I hope it came out OK.
> 
> Probably the end!

Crowley slips out of his angel's arms and makes his way down into the bookshop, wrapping his wings around himself tightly like a cloak against a cold wind. Only two nights ago, Aziraphale wept for a fallen archangel who'd never even acknowledged him, and Crowley can't drag up Aziraphale's Fall-related trauma again just to ease his own.

He dreamt of the Fall again, and of the landing. Most of the Fallen had indeed come down beside the lake of boiling sulphur; a few had plunged into the shallows. Crowley had been among the latter, an agonising two feet of heat failing to cushion his fall before he crashed into the rocky ground below. His wings - newly feathered in black, and still burning - broke in what felt like a thousand places, and he couldn't tell if he was an arm's reach from shore or a hundred miles from anything. The truth, as ever, was somewhere in between.

He'd dragged himself out of the lake on his hands and knees, inch by fiery inch, his wings trailing uselessly behind him, and waited for the derision of his fellow outcasts as they saw the mighty Archangel Raphael brought so low. But they'd just laughed and asked him his name. He'd looked down at the way his fingers curled into the mud, at his singed knees peppered with grit, and he'd told them.

"Crawly."

He opens a window, still thinking of the sulphur's heat, and stands there shivering in Aziraphale's back room. He can't go back to Aziraphale's arms, and he won't leave his angel entirely. So he stands, shivering in the moonlight, until the choice is taken from him.

"Crowley." He turns; Aziraphale is dithering in the doorway. "What's wrong? You, you left."

"I'm still here." He turns back to the window. "Another nightmare, that's all. I didn't want to wake you."

"Of course you should wake me." Aziraphale is closer, now; Crowley can feel the angel's hand not quite touching his wing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Crowley does, and he doesn't; he wants to share all his sorrows with the angel, to lighten the load, to let him in - but he doesn't want to burden Aziraphale any more than he already has, and he doesn't want to admit that he's deceived him. He didn't mean to, didn't plan it - but what if his angel doesn't see that? What if he loses him?

Aziraphale deserves the truth, though, so Crowley turns; he leans in and steals one more kiss, to remember them by. He brushes away his tears and leads Aziraphale to the sofa.

"There's something I need to tell you. About Before."

"What about before - before what?" Aziraphale takes in Crowley's expression and his own face becomes solemn. "Ah.  _ Before _ ."

"I'm sorry. I should have told you this ages ago, but… I'm telling you now."

Aziraphale surprises him, pulling him into a deep kiss that's as reassuring as it is sensual.  _ I love you _ , says the kiss,  _ no matter what. _ Crowley will see about that.

"Before I fell… I was an archangel."

The world stops,  _ time _ stops, as surely as it ever has. Crowley can hardly stand to look at his angel, but he forces himself to look into his eyes, to watch as disbelief and confusion and shock give way to something more akin to fear and sadness. Crowley wonders if that's just how his angel expresses anger.

"... _ Raphael _ ?"

"No." Aziraphale's brow creases, just a little, and Crowley realises he's been misunderstood. "I mean- only one fell, so you know I  _ was- _ "

"Raph-?"

"No. No, please don't call me that." It hurts; the name pierces his soul more surely than any flaming sword, an old wound that has never healed. He buries his head in his hands. "It's not my name any more. I don't use it. I don't want it."

“Of course. I’m sorry.” When Crowley glances up, Aziraphale looks as if the world has just been pulled out from under his feet, and in a way he supposes it has. “You… oh. Oh,  _ Crowley _ . How did you keep it to yourself, all these years? Does Hell know?”

“They think God kept me. Him. The archangel. She nearly did, as well. But then-”  _ Falling. Burning. Breaking.  _ “I Fell.”

There’s silence, for a moment, and then Aziraphale lunges forwards. For a moment, Crowley thinks he’s under attack, and then he realises it’s worse than that. He is being  _ hugged _ . Aziraphale is holding him as if nothing has changed between them, as if Crowley hasn’t been hiding the truth and Aziraphale isn’t going to leave him for it, and it’s almost too much to bear. Then, just as suddenly, the angel pulls back.

“Oh, no. I told you about my crush-”

Crowley seizes the distraction. “You said it wasn’t a crush!”

“Well, it wasn’t, but it was a bit, I suppose, wasn’t it? That’s very embarrassing.”

“I don’t mind. I’m just sorry we never got to talk.”

“We got to talk in the Garden. Is that why you were at the Eastern gate that day? Checking up on your old job?”

“Sort of. Besides, you know who was at the other gates.”

“Hm.”

They sit at opposite ends of the sofa for a moment more, and then Aziraphale speaks again.

“Did the demons name you Crawly?”

“No. I did. I crawled out of the lake-” Aziraphale winces and Crowley realises he hadn’t shared that detail. “-and they asked who I was, and-”

“-and you panicked?” Aziraphale had, after all, heard all about the nonsense that had gone on when Crowley had been required to pick  _ extra  _ names to go along with new naming conventions.

“-and I hated myself.” He wasn’t proud of it, any of it. “I thought God loved me, and I thought I was doing a good job in Heaven, and… I thought She loved me, and She cast me out. I felt like the lowest piece of scum in all of Hell, and I picked a name to go with it.”

“So when you changed it… you were forgiving yourself. Just a little.”

“Yeah. I suppose so.” It’s hard to admit, even after all the confessions of the last few minutes. Aziraphale hums in acknowledgement, and Crowley wonders how the angel stays so calm. He must, surely, be preparing to unleash his fury on him; Crowley has betrayed him in a thousand tiny ways by not telling him this secret. He has betrayed him for thousands of years.

“I have a question, if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale tells him after a long while. “Two, actually.”

“Fire away.”

“Do you remember much from back then? Making the stars?”

“I… not much. I remember the creations, I remember how the stars felt under my fingers, but… I don’t remember working on one with you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m sorry.”

“No- no, well, I mean, I did wonder, but what I meant was - I wanted to say… Alpha Centauri really was some of your best work. Absolutely superb.” The angel’s eyes are shining, and Crowley almost blushes, before he remembers that Aziraphale must be furious with him.

“Angel. You said two questions.”

“Yes. Why do you seem more afraid now than you were after your nightmare?”

Angels really can be so appallingly cruel. Crowley has seen that most recently when he and Aziraphale had nearly been executed - and at least Crowley would have got a trial - but never thought he’d find any hint of that cruelty in Aziraphale, until now. He’s going to make him say it, going to make him ask the question he’d been dreading.

“I don’t want to lose you. And I think, probably, I’m about to. Can you ever forgive me for not telling you sooner?”

“Forgive you?” Crowley closes his eyes and hangs his head. There it is; he has asked a favour even his angel finds unbelievable. “Crowley, my dear, sweet,  _ stupid  _ demon, there’s nothing to forgive.”

“What?” He looks up and freezes in place, trying to process what he sees.

Aziraphale is smiling fondly at him, moving closer along the sofa until he’s almost in Crowley’s lap, where Crowley would so dearly love him to be if things were just a little more normal between them.

“Nothing to forgive, nothing at all. Do you really think six thousand years of life, of friendship, of falling in love can be undone so easily?”

“Six thousand years of  _ lies _ -”

“I never even asked who you were, Before. It’s not that I wasn’t curious, you know. It’s only that I thought it might be painful for you, and I didn’t want that, and it didn’t matter. I never asked, Crowley,  _ because  _ I thought you might prefer to hide it. That was me giving you permission. To get to it when you were ready.”

Crowley’s heart feels like it’s breaking, but it’s just too full of love to keep its shape, and his wings feel like they’re burning and his breath feels like it’s sulphur and he feels as if he’s falling again, because he has no secrets left and Aziraphale still loves him. He can’t move; he can’t speak; he’s terrified that he’s still dreaming and the slightest thing will break the spell.

Aziraphale understands, somehow, crowds into his space and covers him with those fluffy white wings Crowley loves so much. He presses a kiss to Crowley’s eyebrow, and Crowley is so busy wondering why he chose his eyebrow, of all places, that he doesn’t even realise his arms are moving, shifting to encircle the angel, until it’s done. Until they’re holding each other, and tears are streaming down Crowley’s cheeks, and Aziraphale is doing his utmost to kiss each one away. He will wait, Crowley knows, until Crowley is ready to respond. 

_ That was me giving you permission. To get to it when you were ready. _

When he’s ready, he’s going to kiss Aziraphale like he’s never been kissed before.


End file.
